"tittering" poems
the cherry blossom accord/equation
”perfumers use aromachemicals to recreate a cherry blossom accord...(an accord is a scent made up of individual aromachemicals, that when combined, create a harmonious blend where none of the individual ingredients are able to be detected on their own).”
the odor of our lustful eyes,
the sweat, a unique commingling,
a sheen of salted oils body bathing,
crushed green petals of peaches,
crumbled together with the softy fuzz shavings,
the sediment of aromatic fruit juices drippings
our blending bottled in our brains,
none other would recognize but we,
to too two smell each other through and over
floors, concourses, cities, disparate distances
our ingredients secreted (secret),
our flavors cell secreted (secreting)
the world’s silly tittering aroma inserted,
our sparking fingertips touching
add a bush burning burnt odiferous
we seat across from each other in an airport
plastic restaraunt and everyone asks out loudly,
what is that smell, feed me that, taste me that,
as we are irradiating the atmosphere,
as we renegotiate our cherry blossom accord,
fresh signatures, updated, harmony of harmonies, notarized
she smiles, I joke, winking,
we must continue
to meet like this,
the fireworks of we,
of us,
to-gather to-gether,
a getting of giving,
she answers:
*take me home and
bathe me in love,
give our bodies shelter
from the world outside,
beside a new spice
have I uncovered,
this will require some
discussion+exploration,
the quantity to be added,
the when, and the how!*
what is this new ingredient?
asking puzzled and aroused,
she laughs
(a spice already included),
why it’s called
only love poetry
8/23/19 4:55pm
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 5:06 PM UTC
Long table laden in lace
mismatched silverware
chipped plates
cloth napkins and crystal cups
beneath a canopy
of knotted branches
framed between two hallowed trunks
snaggled twigs cling
to lanterns and ribbons
strung across the foliage
for the Moonlight Feast.
When the sun sinks
the guests begin to arrive
with their flowing gowns
thin veils and hats
lace gloves
masked faces
shaped like wooden birds
slender heeled black boots
daintily stepping through grass
to find a seat
at the Moonlight Feast.
As they sit
drinking their wine
tittering through
frozen smiles
one man walks
wearing a frown.
the woman by his side
pale as the moon
hair like the sun
they sit at the head
of the Moonlight Feast.
They look nearby
at the less traveled road
where a young man
walks with not a penny
they run like wolves
on their hands and knees
and strike him down
limb from limb
he is torn
and brought
to the Moonlight Feast.
The frowning man
gave a toothy smile
and as well did his queen.
The guests all ate
of the flesh of a beggar
who they slaughtered
alone on the street.
Their titters all turned to
shrieks and howls
while the moon shined bright
over these Moonlight Beasts
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
I open the blinds and see the world - in return, what
does the world see? It sees me, and all my splendid, split
personalities, living these amazing times, of amazing
pleasures, in which we tweet tweets, and post posts re
ego-trips and copyrighted links, videos and things; and,
as stray dogs, we ramble randomly, and all the time,
living in our infinite worlds, of infinite lanes, till infinity;
yet we suffer so much pain.
Our Shih Tzus take us on extended walks, firmly leashed
to our Koss plugs, as we drone cool tunes on multihued
iPods, iPhones buzzing ringtones of tittering babies,
stolid kings and hyperactive frogs, which would all make
my eighty-six year old dad want to gag; we fly
ultralight megaplanes at the sonic sound of speed,
through virtual and real space, connecting dots at low-
cost prices, while we belt-up, gear-up, gulp Gaga and
gorge heat-inducted meals of deer, horse and over-
promoted crap; and then, wow surprisingly, we are all
so unsatisfied.
We consciously all move-in together, and **** on end,
like statistical sheep, pre-married, unloving, and broken
up, and justify it all, to ourselves, with our fully
stretched spandex morality, over low-carb brunches
@Starbucks, two 14” screens of separation; we paint
pornographic images of virgins, all called Mary, in the
name of art, and, white-clad, **** babes and alter-boys,
and penetrate each other, first with our fingers, deeply,
then superficially, without even wondering, for a
zeptosecond, why we can’t stand one another any
longer.
We crank-up dependencies, like high street mainliners,
shamming and slaughtering for neurotoxic fixes of
smileys and Crystal on billion-dollar Kogo yachts, while
we all just pedal on, dispassionately, down and over
interior canals, to the core of our hocked, abbrev lives,
chronically connected and severely distracted, in
aromatic polymer bubbles, heedlessly cruising through
comic-strip farms of mock vegetables, surely to nowhere
and towards no one; and quite frankly, the world laughs
at all this, and sobs, and so do I.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
I had a boyfriend.
His name was - well, I can't tell you.
He came into poverty of spirit - like the rest of us.
Jesus! Who left us here!
We looked around.
Didn't recognize a thing,
which was why
we congregated, delicate souls together,
following one another around.
We recognized each other,
our sense of loss,
what was meant to be.
Like a dutiful pup
returning a dry stick,
we tried to make a go of it,
struggling against all hope
to navigate our way through
unfamiliar
hostile
landscape.
In the end,
it was not enough.
So sad.
Little did we know --
it was all just a game
and we were the pawns.
Far, far beyond the universe
could be heard tittering
teacup laughter.
Massive,
caliginous clouds
bowed to the sound, and
scattered,
foiling
their resolve
to wreak havoc.
In their wake,
a breath of dampness escaped,
a blessing.
The dry stick
has been planted.
Tiny outstretched
green buds
beg to be noticed,
nurtured.
Maybe we can make this our home
after all.
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.madame's stifled feverish
tittering,
voice raucous as tamped in a
corselet,
translucent skin akin to pellucid
drapery,
overwrought hands entwined in champagne
hair,
madame's eccentricity is her
lunacy.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.the mellifluous static of the ebony
radio,
dulcet hallucinations imbricate in her
Crumpet,
ephemeral visionary of the
erstwhile,
Madame’s a suitable fandangle tenant of the
bedlam.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.madame scrutinized the greenwood through the
crevice,
appetency for the veil of sea
smoke,
imperceptive to her
frenzy.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.ensnared in an austere
plight,
madame’s urbane actuality,
disenfranchised.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.the exuberant dimension of reciting
hysteria.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
Cubic zirconium eyes, and a tip toe too far
that I'm tittering on the cusp of something
that is even remotely coherent.
I've been repeating sentences in my head,
over and over again so I'm not to forget it.
This waltz with reality is getting tiring,
and my wits are too dull to cut this rug.
I believe that there is an old saying about that
but I could be confused with something other then words.
I never did like the number seven
masquerading as cylindrical. Never the less,
there is just three more steps, and
a skipped heart beat, and then, and only
then I can finally come to my conclusion.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 12:07 PM UTC
Gasping for missing air.
Trailing a tittering dream.
Reality of independence shattering.
No longer on my own.
Loneliness is settling down.
We're moving on.
But I never learned how to survive on my own.
Rose buds refusing to bloom without a sliver of blood.
Shaping diamonds like land mines dangerous to forge.
The true wealth of our friendship is fine and fair.
Just got to thread it without breaking the silk.
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 1:40 PM UTC
Sitting down
Tittering on the edge of falling down
Debating on where I stand
When it comes to love and war
Staring at the sky
Wondering how long the sun will shine
Whether the stars will cause chaos
If the universe will fade away
How can love exist
When there are so many others
How can we exist
When there is nothing to live for
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 3:44 PM UTC
The life lived in a fog
illuminated by different shades of gray
potentiating an explosion of colors
ever vividly fade into our
dreams
alliterating perfectly with
drained, dread, and dreary
bouncing off of the hard shell of reality
ricocheting through this haze we call
life
is meant to be inhaled and exhaled
with symmetrical patterns
tittering on the balance of fate and faith
inching ever closer to the center of mass:
21 grams
light it up and watch it burn
take a puff and free fall
in the high that is lower than
the lowest lows...
failure?
forces the question of whether
the shattered future will reach
its imaginary destination, or
be forever lost in this
twilight
marks the beginning of another tired cycle
weighted down by the burden of success
caught up in the monochrome movie
that parades its credits before the
ending.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 12:03 AM UTC
Those concerns are gnawing
my world like a rat
A tiny tittering can heal
many broken hearts
Done much hiding
from the stress
Blood, sweat and tears
it makes you breathe fast
Dear Anxiety,
You might break my own
but you can't bury a soul
it is free
☾ M. E. Kuşaslan ✩
@lightinthedarknesspoetry
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
Disguised in a three-piece suit,
the Cowboy has made off with Helen of Troy.
Already leagues from the rubble of city walls,
the dust rises in billows as they
fly away breakneck on his Trusty Steed.
They hear the echoing uproar breaking
at their heels. Helen's hair is a streaming
banner of war, skin flushing a ruddy apple red.
She thinks of Golden Paris in his silence
reposed in long limbed quiet on their gilded bed,
waiting for her, for the fire to peel away
their faces, the scent of burnt fruit and decadent spoils
our sacrifice to the tittering gods, the insatiable Aphrodite.
But Helen rides.
The wind smells like foreign spices waiting for
her tongue. She breathes in the sweat on the back
of the Cowboys neck. Freedom is musk and cotton,
the rumbling murmur of water channels and ravines
rocking under their feet.
They sink into the western horizon and
I turn away from their embrace,
pausing to watch glorious Troy fall into
fast decay under their lengthening shadow.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 4:51 AM UTC
The fireflies of the summer dimmed into the past
So many things fade like dust and winter’s gusts
I’ve taken the empty words and trembling hourglasses
To sail the world with me in dazzling, chapped horizons
Endeavours upon disguises, silence in our minds
We envy the buzzing timelessness of the lighted fireflies
Chalked and restless grey, a distant opal of deceit
Unmasking, silent, and you, ever discreet
Cooling rain and sauntering songs, words and echoing tunes
Joyous dances and tittering ladies, potter through the dunes
Nostalgia and nausea rush to me, seeming none so different
While we talk and smell the hallways, so dried of yesterday
The chapel rings in amber mist, rays of tomes and light
Choral bells and bowls of memories, shine in blinding sight
Moaning in the shadow of the past, cringing past the ocean
Cloaked and yielding in the needs
Of explicit and deceptive motions.
I see you in the scent of autumn
Waving distant goodbye
As we raise our hands and talk the emptiness
Of vague and hollow skies.
Apr 24, 2010
Apr 24, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
the scared tittering
of turtle doves forced
to flap thru a peach wind.
as lusts blare their fresh
greens, to sweeten the scents
pitting against dens of flesh.
the unanimity of rise and entry--
driven to full ***********
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 12:54 PM UTC
This morning drenched our little world-
Fogged our vision driving in,
As the wind blew the water sideways in sheets
Which threw themselves against the windshield:
THWAPP
THWAPP
THWAPP.
The wipers fought a losing battle:
FSH-erhh
FSH-erhh
FSH-erhh.
Stepping out the driver's side door
Was like having walked the plank
And reached the end,
Emerging into nothingness,
And then endless water.
Wool socks were damp for hours
Souls were exhilarated, voices tittering ironically joyful grousings.
"Can you believe this weather?"
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 12:47 PM UTC
The tittering leaves chutter
softly to me - embracing
the clouded sky, portent
to a coming
storm. We could not care
any less - embrace the heavy
clouds, a molten mood.
My thoughts are wild, omnipotent
unhinged. Lapping water
tempers the coming
rain - whispers to me with
those newly born saplings
Coaxing me to
freedom, release from
pain and present
A hope in deluge
A silent thunder ignites.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
Cigarette **** cracked sidewalk, red Jeep, blue eye, green
It’ll all be as wispy as the clouds sultry streaks
That dance in my eyes
I have to look up
I have to
Perfume, *** too much cologne, dryer sheets
I’ll hunt you with the crazed eye of my nostrils lust
But I won’t chase you down
I’ll stick my hands into my pockets and keep my eyes locked on the stop sign ahead
High heels, click click clicking, you have gum on your shoe
I say to myself
Quietly
I’ll warp my mouth into a makeshift zipper
So nothing
Not even the huff of my breath
Will make my outline crimson and bold
I’ll take out another cigarette
Two or three
To look occupied
And not twisted and contorted like my restless legs
Jutting out like a dam tittering on the edge of destruction
Your skin emanates warmth as painful as the suns elongated rays
Even those lips curling into a smile
I’ll just panic from my toes up
And there’s no telling what my limbs will end up doing
Melt and dismember into geometrical tragedies
I don’t need the quizzical stares
I’ll just make sure I don’t take my eyes off the sidewalks path
I won’t let them gleam with visions
Of empty bottles
And tatters of lives better left stuffed
Between couch cushion blues
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
a ridiculed soul deemed
worthless
trapped by society's
undefeated cruelty
vile memory repressed
still lingers in his throat
the tittering grows
louder
as his laughter echoes
uncontrollably, resentful
and frightened
desiring only but one
semblance of normality
but humanity has
crumbled
how could this world
be so ruthless to someone
who they have denied
to Youー
a man born from chaos
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
Looking up at the sky, lanterns fall from
Distant galaxies, or perhaps from
Wherever our idea of heaven is
They pin me to the grass and light
my skin ablaze.
Alas, no burns grace my limbs as
Dewy grass blades kissed them away.
The crickets are quietly tittering
A trial against my being, judge jury
Executioner. Mother nature won’t give mercy
In the coming days
How far can my mind extend through oblivion?
Like an elder’s hand extending to memories of youth for
A taste of the past
Memories are always sweeter in retrospect
If I reach far enough maybe I can twist time to
Give me back what I lost in my creation
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC
Lucky girl,
Having her arms wrapped around you.
She must be smiling when her skin touches yours,
tittering when the snow punches you in the face.
Lucky girl,
She must be smelling like you now,
In the shower and the pillow where you splay your hair,
In her dreams where you amble along the Seine.
You caffeine breath, on the tip of her tongue
She says the thrill is like another day in the sun.
I hope she looks at you like the sequel of her favourite flick
In the morning,
when the sun is dancing in your hair
or kissing the dimple in your cheek.
Lucky girl.
Waking up right next to the soul of this planet.
Breakfast in bed and casual chat about last night's show,
Stroking the cat if she decides to intervene.
Maybe I would never know
how she feels.
Unless she stays until December next year.
But I can't wait for forever.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
The grind
Facing the wall again, deep awkward and painful staring at the floor
Tittering a laugh, cruelty unintended but the long grind of waiting
The stucco church, solid near the bulk shop
He started earlier than the rest and they never could catch up
He left earlier as well.
Where to turn?
Well elided turns makes a lazy talker, yes m'am, no sir
Carry over from prior months, a horror thick with worry
Fish swim no more here, Auriole has been called home
And the child she took from autistic streets rakes thoughts together
Rugged ones hardly expected success from the slower one
Well, surprise.
Stone
Baking rays, in the shade we climb
The spider said to the vine: how art the tidings there?
Be told unlike, the searcher's dream wilts slow in a postbox
The chart burns, and discrepancy marches again.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
*As I continue to sit
tittering on the
edge of the realm
of my mind.
Pressure still pushing
against the frame
that they say
protects my brain.
My rambling here
will be interpreted
to reflect the view
of some with no real true view.
Fearing not others views,
as long as I
can focus on a life
that's true.
Life will be happily
viewed, from behind
my gold rimmed
rose colored glasses.
Life is what you make it.*
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
You may find
that everything is partial sublime.
It's not that I'm not alright
or that I'm not fine.
You put on a good show.
I guess you learned
from the best about 5 years ago.
I don't not feel anything for you,
unlike the way you do.
I don't blame you for not forgiving me.
I don't blame you for wanting to get back at me.
So between these lines
you can clearly understand,
I won't forget the good times
because I wasn't the only one
that had to pay for past crimes.
I hate to see you got so bitter,
But I only have hope that you get better.
I hope a lot for you.
But I dunno,
That's just something people
with big hearts that learn forgiveness
tend to do.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 5:31 AM UTC
As assured as the setting of the sun
and the ascension of Luna on high.
They return like hyenas of the savanna,
their malicious voices chittering and tittering.
Venomous with each inflection of their tongues,
squealing in impish delight as their words seep through.
Discomforting the soft covers draped over my exhausted form.
They are a primordial presence.
I know them all too well.
These treacherous phantoms of the past.
Old memories arisen back from the watery depths of consciousness,
brought forth to assail this aggrieved mind of mine
and drown me in the deluge of grief and sorrow.
Not unlike a vessel amidst the raging tempest of the sea,
I must bear this unwanted squall and wait out the storm.
Uttering only this silent hymn borne upon my heart.
Grant me silence.
Oh grant me peace.
Dispel this dirge they have woven
and so grant me
sleep.
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 2:17 AM UTC
I held you in high regard,
your regard my deepest desire.
I wanted nothing but that spark of approval in your eyes
So I removed mine, blind to your faults,
And broke my bones, reattached them where you pleased,
mutated myself into a response to your needs.
I bent over backwards trying to make myself worthy of you,
worthy of a two second glance, of a slight uptick of lips,
when it struck me,
like a lightning bolt;
an epiphany.
I am not a contortionist.
I am not a mound of clay
to be moulded according to your expectations.
I am not water in a receptacle,
assuming the shape of it,
spreading myself thin or shrinking myself to fit.
I am the sea, the ocean, wild and free
and a little bit tempestuous,
a little bit uncertain,
a little bit blue,
but mostly,
not tamed by you-
not tempered by your desires-
not contained in your claustrophobic boundaries.
No more this simpering shadow of myself,
No more the swallowing of my words, choking on my laughter,
No more this false tittering at your behest,
No more the unravelling of my identity like a spool of thread,
No more the restitching of my being to be your best, not mine.
No more you, anymore,
Only more me.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
Some morning I awake
To find myself tittering on the precipice.
Hair-thin strands of faith
Keep me dangling.
In times of strength
I can almost weave them
Into durability;
But I find then snapping
Like a guitar string
I wonder between sanity and psychosis
And though I fear the abyss
This uncertainty
Finds me longing to cut the strings.
How much longer can I endure?
This mind that I remember to be strong
Somehow isn't
And knowing that
Almost frightens me more
Than the dark uncertainty.
When
Did death began to look
Like salvation?
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC